


Tainted

by RivailleRavioli



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Dark Jack Frost, Dark!Jack, E. Aster Bunnymund - Freeform, Gen, Nicholas St. North - Freeform, Pitch Black - Freeform, Rise of the Guardians - Freeform, Tainted, Toothiana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivailleRavioli/pseuds/RivailleRavioli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is common knowledge that white is a symbol of purity, that freshly fallen snow shimmers with such purity after the darkness of the storm that brought it has passed. However, it is also common knowledge that something so pure is also very easy to taint...because once dirtied, snow can never truly be white again. A Dark!Jack story</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tainted

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of bringing some of my older ff.net stories over here.

It was not something that happened suddenly, it did not simply come into existence but unknowingly born from a single moment. Slowly growing, spreading, festering, and the words hissed from the Nightmare King's very lips, "You cannot kill fear..." stabbing at the back of the mind like a sharp knife. None of the Guardians could deny the truth behind those words, it was their job...no their duty...to insure that fear did not possess a strong grip on this world. To protect the children, to fight away the fear and bring only light, hope, happiness, and joy to their lives. Another truth that could not be denied...where there his darkness and fear, there is always light and hope. 

Standing at the center of a frozen lake; a boy no older, no younger, than eighteen gazed longingly up into the clear winter air. Crystalline blue eyes reflected the light shining down from the full moon, a soft breeze displayed little effort in lifting and tussling his short, snow white, hair. The staff in his hand hung limply at his side, lost in his thoughts, his memories, Jack Frost tried to understand as he tried on countless occasions. What had he done wrong? It did not surprise him when the Man in the Moon did not, ironically, shed any light on his predicament. Which left him in his current position. Unfazed by the cool surface on which he stood, his eyes lowered to the ice, now staring intensely at the dark depths. The light of the moon could only go so far before the darkness came. 

When did it happen? Any number of times he faced off against Pitch, the deviant could have done something. There were countless opportunities for such an attack, but not in a single battle had Pitch actually succeeded in firmly implanting fear. The spirit closed his eyes and tried to think a little harder. His hand finally clenched the thin wood that made up his staff, causing the surface to freeze and give off a faint glow. There was a surge of wind, and suddenly his eyes snapped open. Fear, there it was, gripping him in the realization of how this happened. Fear of the unknown growing and twisting into the fear of inevitable understanding. 

Staff dropping with a rickety clatter upon the ice, Jack brought his arms up to his chest as if for the first time, in three hundred years, he felt the cold. One hand gripped the opposite arm tightly, it was not so long ago, on this very spot he took the Guardian's oath and now here he stood once more. Avoiding the Guardians, avoiding North...the man he in most ways looked up to now. Eyes slowly moving towards his held arm, he gingerly drew the thick sleeve of his hoody down. The pale skin of his hands were suddenly contrasted by a sickly gray. His entire forearm was this horrid color. 

Only days ago he started to notice the skin change; actually, it had been Jamie who first took notice. It was during one of their usual snowball fights, the boy had actually succeeded in surprising Jack enough to knock him off his feet. Somehow, his arm came into view and the boy had asked if he was hurt. The question surprised Jack enough to see what had made the boy think such a thing. At that time the gray was only the shape of a small bruise, wrongfully mistaken as a trick of the light. Now it had spread and continued to do so. There were nights where Jack could actually see it, he could not feel it, but just the sight of it moving up his arm was enough to make him sick. 

What had caused this? The answer was now clear...it was that battle. The one where Pitch had targeted Sandy. He had just narrowly avoided two charging nightmare stallions only to accidentally fall through a third. Passing through the dark, sandy, creature had been disorienting and disgusting, just touching them caused his stomach to knot so going through one...

Jack moved the sleeve up a little higher, the gray had spread faster than he had thought. His entire upper arm, his shoulder...crouching down and staring at his reflection, he pulled the collar of his hoody down and found that the stigma had reached his neck and seeped across his collar bone. Hands shaking, he quickly let go and pulled his sleeve back down. Fear, that's what made it grow, he could not feel fear, he could not...Jack could feel his eyes sting. Clenching his eyes shut, he fought viciously against the fear. His fear was an image of himself, a dark, twisted, evil image of himself. It was like two forces of equal power were slamming against one another. The effort had brought Jack to his knees, his hands now raised and gripping at his hair. 

'Not now, not after I...' this fear he was suffering was like a poison, it seeped into his very soul. It was the kind of fear one felt when faced with something utterly horrifying, there were no words to describe it. It was the feeling of pure and utter dread, it made you sick and weak, just breathing brought waves upon waves of nausea. Having drooped lower, Jack's forehead was pressed against the ice, his whole body trembled and reeled at the sickness in his chest. Was this really the work of the Nightmare King? 

Jack had been told stories about Pitch, had heard many rumors, but years it seemed had passed since he was dragged back into the earth. He had not been seen or heard from since. This fear felt different than what Pitch concocted. He could bring out a person's inner fears, but this fear ran deeper...a primal fear. A fear only the purest of darkness could produce, a true nightmare, a true fearling from the days before MiM. 

His world had gone dark, had he lost? Jack could not say for certain but he could not feel the fear inside him anymore. He sensed it was still there, lingering in the shadows. His eyes slowly opened and the first thing he saw was the moon. It was not beautiful, it was bright and painful, confusion flooded his brain as the spirit squirmed under its intense light. Finally letting out a pained cry, he pushed himself to his feet only to slip and slide across the ice. 

Slamming hard into a barren tree, he hid behind it, only taking a short moment to groan from the impact afterwords. Peeking out from behind the trunk, he watched as a moonbeam came down and slid over the ice. It was a sight he had never witnessed before, his eyes grew as it fell upon his staff. Reaching a troubled hand out as if to say that it was his, Jack flinched and quickly pulled his hand back. Fear, he feared that beam of light, it was dangerous his thoughts told him. But the staff...he needed it... 

The moonbeam soon moved from the staff and started gliding in his direction. Jack tensed and looked around frantically. Just before it reached him, the frost spirit moved away, avoiding the beam. Moving around it once it reached his first hiding place, Jack slid across the ice and grabbed the staff before dashing off into the woods. Not once glancing over his shoulder, he moved swiftly and silently, every fiber of his being told him to avoid the moon at all costs. It didn't make any sense though, there was still a small voice in the back of his mind that his fear was irrational, that the moon was not dangerous. 

Skidding to a temporary halt when he reached Burgess, Jack stared up at the looming buildings he saw the moon once more. Shrinking back, he pulled his hood up and quickly entered the town. Dragging his staff along the ground as he went, Jack left a thick trail of black ice in his wake, it seeped across the ground spreading to nearly every corner of the street. Normally he would take to the rooftops, but that night he stuck to the shadows, clung to them though they were a lifeline. Going where the moon could not Jack hid behind a dumpster. 

Crouched low, clinging with one hand to his staff while surveying his other. Already healing, the flesh had turned pink, burnt under the harsh rays of the moon. For that which was not supposed to be dangerous, why did it hurt him so? The minor burn stung when he lightly rubbed and pulled at the tender flesh. Why? 

Such questions were pushed from his mind when movement was caught out of the corner of his eye. Flinching back, his gaze fell upon a face; a terrible and familiar face. The first word Jack uttered was, "Pitch!" he'd jumped back but bumped into the dumpster. The disturbance caused the figure before him to distort all of a sudden. It was this that made him stop, his heart still racing but the desire for a closer look overpowering apprehension. 

Eyes wide and tainted with gold, set within a face a ghostly gray, Jack reached a shaky hand out and ran his fingers over the cool glass of a discarded mirror. The face that looked back at him was not that of the Nightmare King, but his own.


End file.
